a good, strong name
by hanate
Summary: petrianna petrelli always knew there was something wrong with the skirts she wore. gen, trans* peter au.


She was born Petrianna Petrelli, a child swathed in a blanket with a thread count higher than the number of stars in the sky. She slept with her mother the first night of her life, fitful in her arms, pale skin contrasting with pastel pink. Arthur Petrelli had been worried when he heard about it-'I have a daughter?'-a little, squirming, baby girl, sexless only with her diaper on. Nathan hadn't minded. Her eyes were bright, and steady, and happy, and they were so different from his own shifty and nervous ones; Angela had let Nathan hold her, and Petrianna had smiled.

She grew up in skirts and footie pajamas, curious brown eyes and cheeks flushed from New York winters, and Nathan used to complain all the time about taking care of her. Petrianna liked to fiddle with childproof locks until they broke, and instead of her getting in trouble for it, she'd hug her mother's leg and chatter up at her innocently while Nathan got berated for letting his little sister do something so terrible. She liked tracing crayon on their walls, and Nathan had to grumble as he attempted to scrub the color off of the painfully boring wallpaper. Most of all, Petrianna had nightmares, and it broke Nathan's heart every time she woke up screaming. They were two different people: Petrianna was bright and eager and ready to jump off a cliff if she thought it would bring something beautiful to the world, and Nathan was the voice of reason who tried to fix everything that went wrong in her life. Nathan knew, as the years passed, that he was different from Petrianna, and that he had to learn to understand her as she was. Petrianna, on the other hand, began to think she was far more identical to her big brother than she initially thought. She felt something missing in her life, something that could bring them closer, something in the way Nathan's hair was cut short and hers grown long to turn into braids, and how her sweaters were always pink and Nathan's blue.

An extended amount of time looking up to, admiring, and (sometimes) borderline stalking Nathan began to make its toll-Petrianna started liking baseball, sports, jumping into mud and getting her hairbands and pink shoes and pastel socks dirty. She watched football and yelled at the television. She punched other boys and laughed about Superman, about Batman and Transformers and the otherworldly humor related to farting and burping. Angela wasn't sure how to feel about it. Petrianna had thought she simply liked what she liked, and that the reason she felt strange with her hair brushing over her shoulders was because the summer heat made her skin itch.

* * *

Petrianna never really understood what was wrong until she turned twelve, dressed in a light blue and yellow dress as her mother took her to visit a friend of hers named Kaito Nakamura. They met Hiro, his son, but he couldn't speak a drop of English; as children were wont to do, however, they managed to bond over Legos and video games, anyway. Shutting the door to Hiro's room behind them, they grinned and made fighting noises as their Lego-men fought to the death, while downstairs their parents spoke about one thing or the other. When Hiro had left for a moment (something about waffles-Petrianna could only understand that one word), she'd begun to snoop around Hiro's things, around his closet and his other toys. Curiously, she took out his school uniform-in trademark Japanese style, it had a collar and golden buttons and long-sleeves. She tugged it on over her dress, buttoning it up and fixing the collar over her neck so it looked just right. Staring at herself in the full-body mirror, Petrianna had nearly jumped out of her skin. Her reflection was... something, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

Hiro returned eventually, and with surprised eyes and a soft 'oh!', he started to chirp excitedly in Japanese that Petrianna could not understand. First, she was relieved he wasn't mad. Then, something else happened entirely. Somehow, his hands had fallen onto her shoulders, and he'd babbled on about 'sugoi' and 'bishounen' and 'cosplay', whatever in the world that meant. Petrianna had almost gestured for him to stop so they could return to their Legos, but in a whoosh of action Hiro had taken out a ring of stretchy rubber to tie her hair into a low ponytail, samurai-style. His hands clapping furiously, he let out a 'yatta!', and Petrianna blinked as she looked at herself once more.

There, in the mirror, she saw something in the shape of her upper body, in the way the rubber held her long hair back, in the collar of a boy's uniform brushing against her neck; it was something that was, for the first time, earth-shatteringly correct. Things started to move in slow motion: the way she felt every time she saw her father look at her and call her his prized daughter, the way Nathan teased her about her skirts and her hairbands, the feeling that she was a rippled reflection in the water when she went to brush her teeth. They clicked and whirred and fell into place in a slugging, dormant pace, and they were three little pieces in a puzzle that was bigger than Petrianna's arms could stretch-but they were pieces that suddenly fell together. She turned around, made her best attempt at a manly cross of her arms over her slowly developing chest, and as she looked towards Hiro, she asked him what he thought.

Hiro had beamed and smiled and clapped his hands again, and then Petrianna flushed with glee because someone approved of it.

When dinner rolled around, Petrianna walked downstairs with the buttoned-up shirt and her hair still in Hiro's messy ponytail, chatting animatedly with her new friend even if they couldn't understand each other at all (she knew Hiro had feelings for Spock, but no idea whether those were positive or negative). She sat at the table and, with wide eyes, her mother and Kaito Nakamura looked at her. Hiro's mother, however, smiled and said that her son's clothes looked very nice on her. Hesitantly, the rest of the table agreed, most especially after Hiro's energetic cheers. Petrianna beamed and Hiro let her have her moment without any ounce of jealousy, and quietly she wished that the two of them could be the best of friends. After dinner and little thank yous, Petrianna had taken the rubber off along with the shirt, moving to give them back to Hiro, only to be interrupted by his mother.

"Hiro says it looks better on you," she said, and Petrianna had beamed and hugged Hiro tight until the little boy started getting flustered and had to resort to pinching to get her off.

Angela had said nothing on the flight home, but Petrianna had worn the uniform over her shoulders the whole time, and continued to wear it until it started smelling funny.

* * *

Nathan came back home (on his leave, of course) to Petrianna sprawled on their living room floor, books upon books upon books spread around him as he looked from one page to the next.

"Mom and dad are out," he told him, and Nathan had lifted both his brows like seeing his little sister lying on the floor surrounded by books was supposed to seem normal to him. Suddenly, like he forgot something important, Petrianna scrambled to his feet and rushed over to him to hug him tight, flustered and embarrassed. "Sorry!" he chirped. "Hi, welcome home! How was training?"

And though Nathan mumbled up some quiet lie about his jet fighter escapades, he knew for one thing Petrianna wasn't listening.

"Anna," Nathan finally began, furrowing his brows, "what're you doing?"

Petrianna blinked, and then smiled up at him, giving him another hug. "I'm looking for my name," he said, then looked up at his big brother with his best rendition of puppy dog eyes yet. "And I'd really like it if you could help me."

Nathan spent the three days of his leave at the library with his little... brother, neck deep in baby naming books while he was covered from head to toe. He'd give him suggestions-"Levi? Marcus?"-but Petrianna had shook his head time after time after time, knowing that the answer was inside him, but that it could only be awoken when he saw it. Petrianna was a beautiful name, a nice name, but it didn't fit him now-not after what happened in Hiro Nakamura's bedroom. He tried other names: Luke, Anthony, even Dante. Petrianna consulted star charts, to no avail; the sky failed him immensely. He needed something good, something true, something that would look great in his crummy chickenscratch as he doodled his new name on a Math test he'd fail without a doubt. He nearly gave up until Nathan suggested, rather calmly, "How about we shorten 'Petrianna' to 'Pete'? Sounds like a good, strong name, right? Maybe Peter?"

And then Peter Petrelli ran down the street of their neighborhood, chanting to himself as his big brother followed with rolling eyes and an expression of disbelief (and a lot of quiet fondness).

"Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter! Peter! Pizza, people, leaning tower of Peter!"

Before he left, Nathan got his little brother a chest binder, embarrassing Internet shopping aside. He gave him the address to his favorite barber shop, too.

* * *

Peter's parents didn't talk to him for a while after that. His mom kept buying him dresses and his dad kept staring at his new, shorter hair like it was the weirdest thing he'd ever seen-Peter still had floppy bangs covering his face, though, so why did it seem so weird? When his mother made plans to visit Kaito Nakamura again, Peter had practically begged for her to take him along: 'Hiro's one of my best friends, ma, and nobody talks to me in school anymore.'

An unreadable expression on her face, Angela had finally agreed.

When he popped up on the Nakamura's doorstep again, it was nearing October, and as Kaito brought Angela into the house, Peter was left looking at Hiro's mother. Automatically, he beamed up at her. "Hi," he said, cheerfully. "Is Hiro home?"

"Hello, Petrianna," she greeted in return, "he is."

As Peter was ushered in, he walked backwards so he could look up at Ishi Nakamura, a sheepish smile on his face. "I changed my name, by the way." Nervously, he rubbed his arm. "... I'm Peter, now."

The way Ishi's face darkened worried Peter immensely, and the woman shook her head from side to side.

"Oh, no," she sighed, much to Peter's fear, "I wish you told me that before Hiro and I decided to make you a kimono for Christmas. He was so happy choosing the colors for it, but it's full of pink and purple."

Relief filled Peter from head to toe, but instead of beaming excitedly, he smiled in soft apology. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Nakamura," he offered, giving a little bow. "But I'll wear it, I promise! You guys didn't have to make me a kimono, anyway." As Ishi moved to speak once more, Peter heard a loud 'Petrianna-chan!' behind him, and as he turned a short Japanese boy bowled into him.

"You are here!" Hiro cheered, and this time Peter had to pinch him to get off, laughter coming from the both of them as Ishi watched on. "You... had haircut?"

Peter grinned, nodding his head. "Yeah. And my name's Peter, now."

Hiro's eyes were wide in curiosity, and he let out an awed: "Peter-kun."

Two hands fell onto Peter's shoulders, but one quickly withdrew as Hiro pushed his glasses up his nose in determination. "Are you ready to be the captain of the Enterprise, Peter-kun?" he asked, his voice as low as it could get.

In response, Peter asked, "When did you learn English?"

* * *

Eventually, Angela came to accept it, and she started buying her son polo shirts and shorts; sneakers instead of closed-toe shoes. She told him that there was a chance they might have to move him from one school to the next, though, and Peter never really understood why, but never really had to. When he came back from Christmas vacation, he found a new name taped to his desk, reading 'Peter Petrelli' in bright blue letters with a sticker of a Charizard beside it. Standing in front like it was the first day of school, he told his classmates an introduction he practiced for days in front of a mirror: "I'm Peter Petrelli, and I'm a boy. But you can all call me Pete." And his teacher had smiled as she instructed everyone in class to treat Peter just the same.

Sometimes there were moments of hesitation: someone accidentally called him 'Petrianna', or 'Anna', or 'her'. They apologized, though, and as the years passed they improved, and the world continued to spin as normally as it could. Peter wrote letter upon letter to Nathan about how the whole introduction thing went, how the barber shop was great, how nice a friend Hiro Nakamura is, and how his head felt really light without the extra curls holding him down. Nathan wrote back in a calmer, nicer handwriting, and he mentioned how he was absolutely sure Peter was the most handsome kid in class-'don't break any girls' hearts yet, Pete'. That made Peter grin the most.

By December, Peter had to go get another haircut, and his father went with him this time, saying the floppy look was unclean and unbecoming of a Petrelli man. When Christmas rolled around, Peter got Star Trek things and superhero comics and a skateboard. When his first attempt at an ollie fell short, Angela walked into the living room with a box and put it on the couch for Peter to open. From the Nakamuras. His kimono.

Peter remembered, suddenly, a tiny piece of wood sticking in his brain, that his kimono was going to be for a girl. He had a skateboard, though, he reminded himself, and he could always wait for next Christmas on the off-chance the Nakamuras decided to give him something again. Staring down at the box, he inhaled, then opened it. And his heart jumped up to his throat.

Ishi Nakamura had unraveled the old kimono patiently, separated every thread, brought it back to the most basic of sewing material. Hiro Nakamura had added new dye to change the color. Together, they'd sewn the kimono and started over, inch by slow inch, in a boy's style this time, over the two months since Peter's last visit. They'd taken the time-they'd put love and friendship and acceptance into every tiny stitch of the needle.

The new kimono was blue with gold trimmings, and it had a red dragon curling up at the back of it.

Peter wore it the rest of Christmas day, and continued to wear it until it started smelling funny.


End file.
